


The Ghost of Erebor House

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Ratings may change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is a novelist who requires a quiet house where no nosy neighbors can distract him while writing. When his editor introduces him to a ‘client’ of his who has a country house that needs to be sold quickly, Bilbo accepts. What he doesn't accept, however, is a hundred year old ghost haunting his new house, who also doesn't seem have an intention of leaving anytime soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well erm. This is probably going to be a long one. 
> 
> Unbeta'd & will most likely update every weekend.

Bilbo Baggins enjoyed a peaceful life. Quiet, routine with no surprises or unexpected turns was what he thrived on. Until his father died while at university and his mother followed a year later after travelling too far from home. Now the house he grew up in, Bag End, had too many memories, both good and bad and he had to leave. However, he wasn’t going to leave it to the nasty Sackville-Baggins family, no siree. Bilbo was going to give it to newly wedded Drogo and Primula, who were sure to be needing the large space anyway.

However, that left Bilbo with the long and boring task of finding and buying a house. Looking out of his window at the pouring summer rain, tapping his fingers against the windowsill impatiently as he thought of his currently unfinished novel (that really needs to be done, as his editor likes to remind him every day). If he was going to write a novel, he would definitely need a space that is far from others, to ensure that no one could distract him from his ‘zone’ as he liked to call it. Money was not an issue; Bilbo’s parents had made sure of that when they had set up his trust fund when he wasn’t even born yet.

While musing his life choices, he hears a faint buzz from his pocket. He fishes out his phone and with one glance (and a sigh) at his caller display, he pulls the device to his ear and drawls, “before you ask, Gandalf, no I haven’t started on the new chapter.”

“Bilbo, m’boy. That was not why I called you, although it is disappointing to know that, I have another reason for my call.”

Bilbo sat up straighter, brows furrowing. “Go on?”

“I have a client who is in a midst of moving and is desperately trying to sell their house. She was just going to try and see through an estate agent but I told her that I know someone, that being you,  was looking to buy a house so she wa-”

“Yes Gandalf, okay, could you get to the point please?”

Bilbo heard a sigh through the speaker before Gandalf continued, “I was getting to that.  I was saying that she wanted to meet you, today, if possible, so I said yes.”

“T-today?!” Bilbo squeaked, “Gandalf! How long have you known about this?”

There was silence and Bilbo knew the answer already. “A while. So how are you with Somerset?”

“Somerset is three hours away from Shiretown! Gandalf what time was she expecting me?!”

Gandalf hummed into the phone, seemingly looking for the appointment when Bilbo heard a little ‘aha!’ and Gandalf spoke again, “at five in the evening.”

Bilbo let his head fall against the cool window, cursing Gandalf to the next heavens as he thought about the offer. “How is the neighbourhood? What about the house? Is it in good condition?”

“M’boy you’ll need to go see for yourself.  I can’t do everything for you, for even I have things needed to be done.”

“I’m not going to see someone I don’t even know! What if they’re mass murderers? Or robbers? Or-”

“Well you can ignore that worry. I can vouch for her that she is not a mass murderer, nor a robber or anything else you think she may be. She shall be expecting you at five and you, sir, shall be there.” And with that, Gandalf hung up, cutting off any arguments that Bilbo could make otherwise.

Bilbo looked at the time, two-thirty. If he rushed it he wouldn’t be too la- why was he even considering this?  Gandalf had set up a meeting with a lady he had no idea of, her character, her house, nothing, and he expects him to just simply go? No. Bilbo would not.

Just as Bilbo made up his mind, his phone beeped once more and he looked down to see a text from Gandalf. “Oh what does that old loony want now...-?”

Oh. _Oh._

That was a very beautiful house.

It’s not even a house, Bilbo muses. It’s more like a vintage country house which you’d see straight out of a bridal magazine where they’d hold receptions or something. The bricks were a discoloured red, giving the house a very quaint, lived in feeling. There was a green door in the middle, with two large windows on either side and right on top of the windows were another two, probably from the second floor, with a third one between the two windows, sticking out slightly due to the brickwork. On the roof there were two chimneys with antennas – probably a modern renovation for the TVs. All around the house there was a little line of flowers, mixes of daisies and lilies. And the path leading to the doorway has pebbled and seemingly smooth, which then gave way to grass along either side which was perfect for gardening or resting should the sun come out.

While Bilbo was admiring the picture, a second text came - again from Gandalf, giving him the address of the house.

And Bilbo did the only thing he could.

He ran out of Bag End with his house and car keys in one hand and a jacket in the other holding a check book and his phone and ran straight into his car. Shoving the jacket to the passenger side of the car and turning on the engine, Bilbo reversed through the open gates of Bag End and was off to see Erebor House.

Trying to drive fast (moderately – he was a Baggins after all and he was not going to be silly enough to speed) in the rain on the M4 was probably the worst idea he had ever had. He always seemed for forget that the M4 was always full of traffic, because some idiot or the other decided to get themselves into an accident, causing others to be late for whatever they had to do.

With traffic, weather and a non functioning sat-nav, Bilbo miraculously managed to reach the country house by fifteen past five. Not too bad, but if his father knew then he would’ve been cuffed upside the head for being late.

Bilbo parked next to a Mercedes and shut off his engine. The house looked even bigger in person. Even if Bilbo wanted the house he would most likely be unable to afford it though he has enough money. Sighing, Bilbo wore his jacket and bolted from his car, up the small steps and under the shelter of the doorway and knocked twice on the door loudly, hoping it was enough for people inside the house to hear it.

When the door opened, it revealed a tall (well, everyone is taller than Bilbo), smiling lady with her blonde hair pinned back in an intricate bun and clothes neatly pressed and with nothing out of place. “Hi, you must be Bilbo Baggins, yes?”

Bilbo smiled, “yes, ah, however Gandalf never told me your name...?”

“Ah, it’s Madeline Durin. Pleasure to meet you,” she extended a hand and shook it with Bilbo, leading him in as she continued, “this house belongs to my in-laws, but no one really lives here anymore and me and the family needed the extra cash, so this house has been put up for sale.” She explained as she led Bilbo to the sitting room. Bilbo stared at the decor, polished wooden tables with shiny vases filled with flowers, bookshelves filled with books collected over time. Bilbo knew he would have to dust them and add in his new books as well if he was taking the house. Bilbo sat down on one vintage leather armchair while Mrs Durin sat on the sofa opposite.

“This is a very lovely place, Mrs Durin. Pretty old too, I imagine.”

“Yes, it was built by Thrór Durin in the early nineteenth century for his family.”

“Oh wow.” Bilbo cooed, getting up, “may I see the rest of the house?”

“Of course, let me show you around.” With that, Bilbo followed Mrs Durin out the sitting room and back into the corridor, where she walked him towards the kitchen when she began speaking again, “of course over the years the insides and the foundation have been refurbished to make sure that nothing collapses over your head.” Bilbo checked the kitchen had every appliance needed to continue baking or cooking and found that everything was accounted for. Impressed, Bilbo walked into the dining room which had a large fireplace on one side of the room, and on the opposite had a large window covering the side of the house, where the cars were parked.

“Shall we check upstairs then, Mr Baggins?”

“Bilbo, please. And yes, of course.”

As they went up the stairs, Bilbo started speaking again, “so erm, Mrs Durin, where are your family?”

Mrs Durin chuckled, “Please call me Maddie, Mrs Durin sounds like my grandmother-in-law. My family are abroad in America. My husband, Daín, works as an accountant and the kids are there in college.” She said, “that’s why we need to sell off this house- for that extra money for their education.”

“That makes sense, I guess.” Bilbo nodded as they began looking at the bedrooms. Overall, there were two master bedrooms and two guestrooms upstairs. Along with that there was one small bathroom and a little office. The master bedrooms, however, had their own on-suite and had a bed large enough to fit three grown men into them. While exploring the second master bedroom, Bilbo found that the walls were much different compared to the other room. It felt wrong, like he was imposing on someone’s bedroom though was impossible since these rooms haven’t been lived in for a few years. “How come the walls are different here? The whole wallpaper, texture, everything here seems slightly off...”

Behind him he could hear Maddie sigh, and almost reluctantly she began speaking, “Daín’s great great uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, had been murdered in this room.” Maddie said, her happy voice now sad, “his killers were never found and since then my in-laws didn’t wish to set foot into this house because of the memories.”

Bilbo looked back at Maddie and understood that this was another reason for selling off this house. Too many bad memories. Bilbo could sympathise with her. After all, Bag End was the same and he was giving it away to Drogo. Seeing her discomfort, Bilbo decided to leave the room as it is and went down the stairs and out to the gardens, trying to change the sudden solemn mood. The rain had stopped sometime during the tour of the country house. “How much is this country house for?” Bilbo asked instead.

Maddie, now brightened up, began smiling again as she spoke, “well, we want to sell off this place quickly so we’re selling it for seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

Bilbo whistled, “that’s pretty cheap, considering how big this house is.”

“Way below the market value, yeah, but it could easily catch dealers eyes.” Maddie shrugged.

“Is the plumbing and electricity good?”

“Yeah, the plumbing has been replaced only last year and everything seems fine. The internet provider also says that this area is a prime spot for internet, should you want any.”

Pleased, Bilbo nodded, “how soon do you want the payment?”

Maddie’s impossibly large smile turned even larger, “really? Erm, anytime I guess.”

He smiled, “I can give you five hundred thousand right now, though the rest will have to be given in instalments.”

“That’s absolutely fine. Why don’t we go in and sign the papers? I need to get them from my car, so if you could wait for me in the sitting room, that’ll be nice.”

Bilbo nodded and made his way into the sitting room where he could privately admire the interior of the house. While standing by the bookshelves, he looked at a few of the books already stacked with dust piling on top from disuse. As Bilbo looked at the books, he noticed how the temperature of the room dropped immediately and could hear nothing but a light thumping, sounding almost like a faint heart beat. Bilbo was pretty sure it wasn’t his own, but goose bumps crawled up his arm as he saw a shadow forming next to him. Bilbo could swear he could hear someone breathing right into his ears.

“Ah, Bilbo. I got the papers!” Maddie’s voice came from the doorway, sounding louder as she shut the door (he didn’t hear a lock, so he wasn’t locked in) and entered the sitting room. The temperature went back to normal and there was no thumping sound other than Bilbo’s accelerated breathing and Maddie’s voice. Maddie, noticing that Bilbo was silent, turned to him with a questioning gaze, “are you alright?”

It took Bilbo several tries to speak, but only finding his voice gone. Maddie noticed it and quickly shuffled to the kitchen where she got a glass of water for Bilbo, returning back to him to give the glass as she slowly led him to the armchair he sat on when they first arrived.

After drinking the water and reducing his blood pressure, Bilbo finally could speak again, “yeah- I er. Yeah I’m good.” He cleared his throat again. It was probably the paranoia that the house could be haunted since it was so old – Bilbo would’ve laughed loudly at that only if it didn’t seem rude.

Maddie sat back down on her seat on the sofa and put the file between them on the wooden coffee table alongside a pen. “Here’s the deed of the house.” She said.

Bilbo found himself reaching for the deed and reading through each line carefully, to make sure that he wasn’t signing up for anything other than the ownership of the country house. Finally, liking what he read, he took the pen and signed his name at the bottom. Then he took out the check book he had gotten and written his amount onto it, signing that and also giving it to Maddie along with the deed.

Maddie, pleased that the house was finally sold, grinned at Bilbo and extended her hand once more, shaking his vigorously. “This is so great. Pleasure doing business with you.” She laughed, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Bilbo laughed with her. “That’s absolutely fine.” They both got up and began moving towards the front door when there was a sudden bang from the sitting room. Both jumping, Bilbo cautiously peeked through the door they went through and saw that a large book from the shelves had just fallen. Must’ve been because of Bilbo’s fiddling. There was no ghost, no murderer, nothing throwing books off shelves.

Maddie began laughing once more, “well then, I guess I should head off then.” Maddie spoke, before making a squeak and stopping Bilbo, “I forgot!” She rummaged through her bag (wait, when did she get that?) and got out a set of keys, “here are the keys to the place: it’s got the front door, garage, and master bedroom keys right here!”

Bilbo smiled and took the keys from her hands, examining them. He would have to colour code them so he knew which key was which. “Thank you.” He said as they finally exited the house.

“You’re welcome.” Maddie beamed as she opened her car door and entered the car. “Goodbye, Mr Baggins!” She hollered from the inside, waving.

He waved back as he entered his own car. “Goodbye Mrs Durin!” He yelled back to her.

Maddie, finally happy that everything had been done, started her engine and drove backwards and out the gates, leaving Bilbo behind still in his car.

As Bilbo began setting up his own car, he looked up and noticed a shadow in the same window of the sitting room. It was in the shape of a man and looked pretty big. Bilbo shook his head, “stupid Took, there’s no such thing as ghosts!” He whispered harshly to himself before he also followed Maddie and drove off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After three days of procrastination and another two days of being ill, this is what I come up with for a second chapter.
> 
> As you can probably tell I had a little problem with writing accents. Shh, pretend they're fine.

Over the next month, Bilbo spent his days inside Bag End, packing all his personal items – books, clothes, his mother’s plates and cups (yes these are important, these have sentimental value – not to mention they’re expensive!) into a box and labelled according to where in the rooms they should go. For this, he enlisted the help of his university best friend Bofur Broadbeam to help move the now heavy boxes from Shiretown to Erebor House.

Bofur took the last box to the rented van and shut the door, leaning against the van with a final sigh. Bilbo definitely carried too many books. Those books managed to take up most of the boxes and they were undeniably heavy. “Bilbo! It’s done. Once yer ready we can leave!” Bofur hollered to the younger man who was still inside the house.

Bilbo, taking in the sight of the many hallways and rooms of Bag End was feeling sad. He would’ve almost said he regretted taking up Erebor House and leaving his home to Drogo and Primula, but of course, it was just the emotions talking. Drogo and Prim were his family; he could visit them anytime he wanted to... if he was willing to tackle the long journey and the M4 again.

He went to the living room and stared at the now empty space above the fireplace that once held the large portrait of his late parents. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers against the faded wallpaper and bit his cheeks to stop himself from telling Bofur to put back his items.

Quickly stepping out of the living room, Bilbo took the keys and locked up the now empty Bag End and hid the key in the loose brick next to the potted plant and hurried to the van where Bofur was on his phone trying to find the address of Erebor House.

“Ready?” Bilbo called as he approached Bofur.

“Hm?” Bofur looked up, squinting against the sunlight hitting his face, “ah- yeh, just looking fer the house. Wait, I found it.” Bofur nodded at the van, motioning him to follow in his own car.  

Bilbo first ran to the gates and quickly opened them wide enough for the van and his car to get through then rushed back to his car and started his engine. Letting his car run, he got his own phone out and set up the now fixed sat-nav and set it onto the phone holder. Now ready, Bilbo signalled Bofur to start driving and they set off. (Well, after Bilbo drove past the gate he had to get out to close said gates but once that was done _then_ they set off.)

At least this time it wasn’t raining cats or dogs on Bilbo’s (or Bofur’s) car.

After a long, and boring, drive from Shiretown to Somerset, it was just after noon when the two finally reached their destination. Bilbo parked in the same spot as he did when he last arrived  (it was the second time he entered the house: he had to make a list of things he needed to buy to make sure he could live as comfortable as possible), with Bofur parking the van beside his car, Bilbo got out, getting ready for another few hours of hard work and labour.

To ease the way, Bilbo fished for his keys to the house in his pockets and opened the door wide open, finding a vase as a temporary door stop to make sure the winds didn’t accidently shut the door while they lifted heavy boxes in.

As Bilbo returned, he heard Bofur whistle, “ye got a big one.” He commented.

Bilbo hummed in response, opting to lean against the van with Bofur. He saw Bofur take out a packet of cigarettes and take two out, offering one to him which Bilbo took. Bilbo wasn’t a smoker, per say, he only smoked pipes (his father’s especially, no matter how old it actually was) and rarely cigs, though if stressed, Bilbo never minded nor complained. “Ye sure this place ain’t haunted? Seems kinda old.”

He shook his head, “there’s no such thing as ghosts, Bofur. You’re watching too many horror movies.”

Bofur shrugged, “seems fun.” Bofur laughed as he took a drag and blew out smoke. “But tell me if ye see any spectres or anything bloody writings on the wall, okay?”

It took Bilbo all his willpower not to roll his eyes, he instead decided to humour Bofur and nodded, “you’ll be the first to know. Make sure you call Ghostbusters for me.”  

Bofur stubbed out his cigarette on the ground, “hell yea’ I will. This place gives me the chills. How old is it again?” He asked as he opened the van door and dragged out a few boxes to the gravel.

Stubbing his own cigarette, Bilbo followed Bofur to the door, “Maddie told me that the house was built in the early nineteenth century.” Bilbo said before picking up a heavy box with a groan. God he was definitely too old for this. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Bilbo staggered up the steps and into the hallway. The box he was carrying was meant to go upstairs so he left the box by the staircase. Bofur waddled close behind, carrying his (with difficulty) box to the kitchen and dumped it onto the counter. He left the house to carry the next box in, both men spending about an hour or so trying to put each box into the correct room.

Once all the boxes were unloaded and in their correct room, Bofur took his leave with a jovial goodbye (and a quick cuppa), leaving Bilbo alone. He looked at his watch and saw it was just past two. Hungry, he made his way to the kitchen where he quickly made a sandwich for himself and began wandering around the house as he nibbled lightly on the bread.

“Paint... new chair... some dusting here...” Bilbo muttered to himself as he examined every room. The furniture he had ordered online was going to be coming today, along with a few other things so those problems would be sorted. He dusted the bread crumbs off his shirt and walked back to the kitchen, deciding this would be the first place to start sorting out the room.

With the glasses in the shelves and plates in the cupboard already set up, there wasn’t much to do other than to clear out the countertops and clean the tables. Bilbo began humming quietly as he wiped the tables when he heard a glass shatter. Jumping, he turned around and saw nothing but a small glass had just fallen down. _Great, more work. Good going, Baggins._

Just as he began to get a dustpan and brush out, he heard another crash but from upstairs. Ditching the items, Bilbo rushed up to find the source of the noise. It sounded like someone had tried to roll in through the window but ended up disturbing his boxes, causing them the topple over and spill out its contents – and that was exactly what he found in his bedroom.  But there was one problem, the windows were definitely _not_ open and there was no one else but Bilbo in the house, so nothing could have toppled the boxes. Fighting the urge to curse and stomp like a six year old (unlike what a Baggins should do!), Bilbo cleared out the clothes onto his bed, deciding he would fix it later before shuffling downstairs to clean the glass so that he wouldn’t have a chance to step on the pieces and cut his feet.

Gathering the dustpan and brush once more, Bilbo swept the floor of the kitchen, trying to get to every corner he could. This was a time which Bilbo really wished for more people to help him – maybe he should’ve hired some help when he had the chance.

With the kitchen sorted, Bilbo retired to the living room with a mop and feather duster to remove all the cobwebs on the bookshelves and under tables. Starting with the books, Bilbo took each down gently, knowing they were old and pretty easy to destroy, he settled them on the coffee table not too far off so he could wipe down the dusty wood. As he took a brown, leather-bound book out of its confines, a photo slipped out.

Resting the book on the table with the others, he bent down and picked up the picture, blowing then coughing as dust went up his nose. The picture was of a handsome man, probably in his late forties with a tall and broad frame and a long, crooked nose. He stood high and proud, with his chest stuck out and his hands clasped behind his back (or so what Bilbo guessed, since he couldn’t see). His dark hair long but tied into a small pony behind his neck with a ribbon to keep it out of his face and a small frown gracing his face. But what Bilbo was drawn to were the bright eyes the man had. What a shame that the picture was in black and white, though. He was sure that if this man had been alive today, he would've been someone to fawn over.  Bilbo looked at the bottom of the picture and saw a name scrawled in a beautiful (and almost enviable) cursive, _Thorin Oakenshield, 1919_.

Well that was over a hundred years old. Bilbo didn’t want to do any damage to the picture; maybe he’d use this man as inspiration in his book. He shrugged and softly slipped it back into the book it dropped out from before turning away and beginning to clean the shelves.

After the incident with the boxes upstairs toppling over, there were no more, so Bilbo decided to chalk it up to the draft coming through the window (it was slightly windy outside after all).

While cleaning, Bilbo heard a knock on the door, which snapped him out his thoughts. He quickly shuffled to the door, trying to sort out his hair and clothes (“A Baggins does not open the door dishevelled! It is simply improper!” his father would remind him all throughout his childhood) as he opened the door. When opened, it revealed it was a large group of men. “Delivery for one Mr Baggins?” The first one questioned, with a gruff voice.

“Er- Yes! Let me just-“ He quickly moved out of the way and tried to direct each person to the correct room. The two carrying the mattress pointed upstairs, the few with the shelves and tables directed to the dining room and office upstairs. With all the furniture and boxes set out, Bilbo tipped and thanked them profusely as they left and shut the door.  

Now that the mattress had arrived, Bilbo could finally focus on setting up his bedroom so he could sleep comfortably at night. He began with organising the clothes into the appropriate drawer, then moving onto setting up the bed, where he changed the sheets over the new mattress and did his bed for later use.

With that done, Bilbo then went back to the living room where he could clean again. He shuffled to the shelves where he sorted out the books into some semblance of order, but left out the leather bound book with the picture of the (absolutely hot) man so he could take to his room. By the time the room was sorted, it was already past eight and Bilbo was exhausted. He left to his bedroom where he would take a quick shower and go to bed.

Gathering a towel and a fresh set of clothes, he went to his on suite and quickly had a shower, as he knew that if he stayed awake any longer he’d probably fall asleep as he stands. Rinsing off, he tied the towel around his body and stepped out of the bathroom, dressing as he moved closer to the bed.

Finally dressed, Bilbo climbed onto bed and covered himself with his blankets. With a little bit more energy, Bilbo grabbed the book from downstairs that was resting on his bedside table and began reading. He found it was a book about Thorin Oakenshield and his life in the early 1900s. 

From what he read, Thorin was a very ambitious man who took on his father's failing gold and metal mining business and transformed it to a worldwide success. However it didn't last long, as a rival company owned by Eugene Smaug who was ruthless with his work. Dís, his sister, had given birth to her second son, Kíli Durin which Thorin had missed due to trying to keep his business afloat. In an attempt to meet his second nephew, he and Dís had planned on meeting up in their country house, Erebor House, and have a little get together. Thorin had arrived the day before, but unfortunately never got the chance to meet his nephew because he had been shot twice in the chest while sleeping. The killer was never found and the Durin's never set foot in the house again, fearing the memories of Thorin haunting them.

After reading such a tragic tale, Bilbo shut the book, planning on reading in depth later when he had time. He turned to the side, closing his eyes and sighing happily as he felt the new mattress sinking and shaping to his body comfortably. It was within minutes the thoughts of Thorin and his family went away and Bilbo fell asleep.

It was three hours later when Bilbo woke with a jolt when he heard a crash.

Scared, he grabbed the scissors that were left from the morning and strained his ears for any more sound. After the crash he could hear footsteps, sounding like someone pacing downstairs in the living room. Bilbo slowly got out from bed, willing himself to walk as silently as he could as he crept out of his room and down the stairs, managing to avoid the creaky steps where he stood outside the shut door of the living room. He could hear a man inside, muttering to himself and could also hear books being moved around – the nerve of the man that dared to touch his books!

Now fuelled with anger and adrenaline, Bilbo quickly opened the door, with the scissor in his hand ready for defence. “Stop what you’re doing thi-”

Oh.

_Oh no._

That can’t-

That's impossible!

The man who had been pacing and reorganizing his books was none other than the man in the picture: Thorin Oakenshield... who should definitely be dead right now.

Well he did say that he wondered what he looked like in person and not in black and white... No! That doesn't explain why there's a dead man in his living room!

Thorin, who looked like a deer caught in headlights at first, straightened up and hardened his features before vanishing right before his eyes. The only thing that suggested that he was even there were that some books had been unceremoniously thrown to the ground and the rest were put into the original places, before Bilbo had set up a nice order.

Bilbo shook his head, and with a small “nope”, he fainted in his living room.


	3. Chapter 3

When Bilbo opened his eyes ten minutes later, he found himself curled up on his sofa with a small blanket covering his shivering frame. Dazed and cold, he sat up as he tried to figure out how he got to the sofa.

All he could remember was heading upstairs after a long day of cleaning and going for a bath before reading and going to bed. Maybe he got up for food, since he didn’t have dinner? Shaking his head, he felt a pounding feeling in the back of his head when he realised he had fallen on the floor than on the sofa.  

Bilbo slipped his feet over the edge of the sofa, slowly bringing himself to stand up as he tried tying on the robe he had on.

Still confused, he continued looking around, blinking his green eyes when he remembered.

_Bang. Books falling. Ghosts. Ghosts vanishing. Feeling scared. Thorin._

_Thorin?_

Yep. Definitely the dead guy he read about.

Great. Just his luck.

What bad thing did he do in a past life that _now_ he was repaying for?

He wanted to blame his imagination: since he had read about Thorin just before sleeping so maybe it was a really vivid dream? Hopefully.

But that hope came crashing down when he felt goosebumps along his arm, the hairs on the back of his neck, almost like someone was watching him.

He jumped to his feet, not making any sound as he tried to control his chattering teeth, all fuzziness gone. He tried to look for the scissors he had brought down with him but couldn’t find it anywhere. Cursing his luck, he tiptoed out of the room, using his ability to walk silently since childhood to help him out of his predicament.

Now, the most normal thing to do was to get his keys and leave the damned house as soon as possible. He wasn’t going to end up like one of those stupid people in horror films who try to follow the ghost around. Gathering his Took courage, Bilbo sneaked out of the living room, his abnormally large feet padding against the wooden floor as he got to the hallway where he had his keys laying in a bowl. Grabbing the keys and balling his fist to make sure they wouldn’t jingle, he shuffled to the front door, opening it and quickly slipping through.

As soon as he shut the door, he began shivering. Maybe he should have worn a coat. And some shoes. But Bilbo didn’t waste any time  loitering and rushed to his car, unlocking it and practically pouncing inside, shutting the door as if that would ward off any spirits.

Now that he was outside, he didn’t know what he should do. He couldn't just drive to Bofur’s house - that man not only lived three hours away, but it was in the middle of the night! It would be improper of him to simply barge in without any warning. He couldn’t even stay in any hotel or bed and breakfast - he had no money (well, apart from the ten pence and a button in his robe pocket) to pay with. Going back inside was definitely _not_ an option.

Locking the door (though it would do no good since ghosts don’t need doors or any permission to force themselves into a house, so a car should be an easy feat) and putting his seat belt on, he began reversing the car. As he did so, he saw Thorin looking straight at him through the large windows.

This situation reminded him of the day he bought the house and felt angry that he hadn’t noticed the signs earlier: the shivery sensation that first time he was alone in the house, the constant banging, the fluctuating change in temperature in certain areas of the house, not to mention a freaking body floating around the house! For Heaven’s sake this wasn’t the first time since he saw Thorin!

_You fool of a Took! A voice sounding suspiciously like Gandalf scolded him in his mind, All the evidence was there but you still didn’t see! Even Bofur noticed it before you!_

Well he wasn’t going to let himself just die at the hands of a dead man.

He turned his head to the back, trying to see exactly where he was going. Speeding up slightly so he could get out faster, he quickly glanced back at the house but seeing that the ghost was gone did not stop Bilbo.

Though a voice certainly did.

“Will you stop acting like a child and stop this vehicle this instant!”

Bilbo definitely did not scream (seriously, it was more like a… surprised yelp). But he quickly slammed the brakes, thanking any deity above that he was wearing a seat belt or he would've met a very painful end with the windshield. “Aule!” he cursed when his car came to a complete halt, so close to the front gates.

Breathing heavily, he shivered once more, noting the extreme drop in temperature of the car as he looked into the back seat, trying to find the source of the voice but failing. _Of course you won’t find anything, Baggins! It’s a ghost!_ Hoping his voice wouldn't crack, he finally spoke, “sh-show yours-self-” well, so much for his voice not cracking.

He heard an impatient sigh, then felt the hair on the back of his head standing again, before he finally saw him.

Thorin was positively more regal up close (and in person- er, ghost? Spirit? Thing? _Let’s keep to spirit, it’ll be less rude_ ). The beard he sported was cropped short (well that definitely was _not_ there in the picture) and his mouth was turned down in a frown, dark like his hair. His black hair was streaked with silver, glimmering in the moonlight, similarly like his icy blue eyes, which was staring right back into his own. 

Bilbo flushed with embarrassment from being caught staring. He opened his mouth in an attempt to speak; “err…-” what _do_ people usually say when confronted with a handsome ghost sitting uncomfortably in the back seat with his pale eyes lookin- _Focus Baggins!_

“S-Stop haunting my house! Go do y-your out worldly business elsewhere!” Bilbo huffed, trying to sound intimidating. And as an afterthought he added, “please.”

This time, Thorin was the one who huffed, “please. You and I both know that I own that manor.” His deep voice resonated through him, and he trembled (it was the cold, damnit!).

“Well now I own it, sir. I bought this country house over a month ago - and I’m pretty sure you were there when I bought it.”

Suddenly the atmosphere got darker, Thorin’s face contorted in an unpleasant manner, “as long as my soul roams with the living, this _manor_ is _mine_.”

“I- I-” Bilbo stammered, now nervous once more. All his courage went scampering away, with the ghost angry (is his eyes flashing red? Oh sweet Aule, it is!) and pretty dangerous. He tried to lean back, away from the ghost to maintain space as if it would protect him, he spoke again. “N-now listen here, Mister Oakenshield! You owned this manor nearly a hundred years ago, and when you err- passed away, the ownership passed onto your kin, which over the years lead to the house being sold to me. So in fact, this _manor is mine_!” He argued.

That was probably a bad idea, however, because he saw the anger flash in Thorin’s eyes - enough to make any man want to submit or else face death - right before he vanished once more.

It took several minutes for Bilbo to convince himself that Thorin had definitely just disappeared within his sight and that this whole thing wasn't a hallucination. Gulping, he turned to face the steering wheel, driving forward towards his little parking spot before he shut the engine and climbed out the car.

Bilbo had to convince Thorin to move on. He had paid plenty money to make sure he was away from civilization (which seemed like a bad idea, now that he thought about it) and he was going to try and make his hard labor worthwhile.He may be rich, but he was not swimming in money.

Sighing, he hesitantly walked back towards the house, feeling like a lamb heading straight towards the  slaughterhouse with every step he took. There was no guarantee that Thorin wouldn’t kill him as soon as he stepped into the house, (he did, after all, have that look in his eyes just before he disappeared). Bilbo had everything to lose (well, his life, really) while Thorin had nothing , meaning, he was already dead and there was no way to kill a dead man twice.

He stood outside his door, adrenaline shooting through his veins as he turned the handle and opened and entered the- his house.

Now, Bilbo expected to be gutted and torn  apart with his entrails and blood splattered against the floor and walls around the hall. What he hoped for was that Thorin realised that he was being childish and that Bilbo was now the owner, so he had no use ghosting around the place, finally leaving Bilbo in peace and going to the other side, or wherever spirits go after death.

What he got, however, was an eerily silent house devoid of any ghosts. Maybe he got what he  wished for-

A door slamming stopped that thought straight away. Along with sounds of books crashing against the floor.

And there went Bilbo’s patience.

“Oh for- Mister Oakenshield! Will you stop acting like a petulant child and let us talk like adults?!” He snapped, letting his voice echo loudly across the house.

Well that stopped the noise at least.

But it didn’t stop the man from appearing at the top of the stairwell, with a thunderous look on his face and his hands clenched beside him.

Maybe he _was_ going to die tonight.

(If he was, he hoped it would be fast and clean: even in death he’d hate the mess.)

Thorin floated ( _floated?!_ ) down the steps, sitting on the last one. “What do you propose we do then, Mister, because I am not willing to allow a strange man in my private dwelling, changing around the furniture and making an overall mess of the place.”  He said, his voice condescending.

Bilbo’s eye twitched, taking note of the tone of voice before replying, “how about you grow up and get it into that thick skull of yours that I am not leaving.” He crossed his arms against his chest, defensively.

“I see we have come to an impasse.”

“Yes, we have.”

They stared at each other, blue meeting with green in  a silent fight of the mind. Bilbo looked away first, needing to blink and catch his racing thoughts.

Maybe living with a ghost may not be so bad… (if said ghost knows to keep his distance and silence).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I really need sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay an early chapter! :D
> 
> And hello Ori, how did you get here?
> 
> (If this chapter is bad, then please tell me and I'll update it as soon as possible)

_Sunday, 19th April 1896_

The sound of shrill crying filled the air.

The cry was coming from inside a room, where Anadís Durin, nee Barnes had just given birth to a healthy baby, guessing by the screeching heard from the inside.

Thorin was already in his mid twenties when his little sister was born. His parents had been trying for another child ever since Thorin’s late brother, Frerin drowned in a boating accident. After many miscarriages and disappointing meetings with the midwife, the Durin household was blessed with their third and, most likely, final child.

In preparation for the little addition, Anadís and Thráin moved temporarily to their little country house away from the city for some privacy. When Thorin found out that his mother had begun delivery, he quickly called the midwife and dropped all his studies in London, he rushed home, right in time for his little sibling to be born.

Now, twelve hours later he was at his childhood country house, watching his father pace the hallway impatiently. Every so often, Thráin would stop and look at the door, almost as if the nurse would grant him entrance that moment.

“Where’s my father?” Thráin asked Thorin, moving to stand right in front of his eldest son.

“Still back in London,” he ducked his head, feeling a bit shamed for his grandfather. Thrór Durin owned the family business and was doing (not so) great at it, but the problem with him was that because he was so passionate about the work, he sometimes failed to acknowledge his family. Come to think about it, Thorin didn’t remember the last time he talked to his grandfather face-to-face.

Last Thorin heard, Thrór had some sort of sickness… and it wasn’t physical. It seemed to change his grandfather. He was more aggressive towards everyone, obsessive towards the money the business got. And that affected the relationship between Thrór and the whole family, causing a big drift in the family.

It wasn’t like he hated his grandfather, no, it was the complete opposite. The few memories he did have of him, before the business, before the sickness, they were fantastic. He was always attentive towards everyone, and loved to laugh.

The midwife opened the door, snapping Thorin out of his thoughts,so that the men of the household to enter the room and meet their new family member. She gave them a small, tired smile and left, leaving the Durins and their family doctor, Oín in the room.

“How is she?” Thráin asked, sitting on the bed next to his wife, looking at the small hand poking out of the blankets.

The elderly man smiled warmly at them, “your wife gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.” He bowed his head at the bundle, which Thráin took as permission to take his little girl from his wife’s arm, pulling down the blanket enough so he could see his little girl’s face.

The baby girl opened her brown eyes slowly, unfocused as her cries reduced to soft whimpers until it trailed off into cooing as her tiny fingers tried to grasp Thráin’s beard. Thráin fell in love instantly. Her chubby, but clean, pink skin glistening under the candle light. Grinning widely, he looked at his wife, kissing her forehead as he looked back at his son, motioning him closer.

Thorin, who was still stood by the door, awkwardly shuffled closer to the bed where his parents and newly born little sister were resting. The room filled with gargles and giggles as the baby girl tried to grab onto anything she could. When Thorin sat on the bed, he was surprised when Thráin handed him the bundle. “Say hello to your little sister, Thorin.” Thráin said quietly, trying not to make any noise as Anadís was asleep right next to him.

He looked down at the little girl in his arms, confused at what to do. He pulled down the blanket, just like his father had done but just as he raised his finger away from the girl, she grasped it with a surprising strong grip. His sharp eyes stared down at her hazy eyes, growing softer as he felt his mouth twitch in amusement. Her tiny digits couldn’t even circle his finger.

While the Durins’ were having their moment, Oín had taken the moment to silently slip out the room, leaving them to meet their new addition in privacy. All the other details could be sorted out later.

Thorin looked at his father, “what are you going to name her?” He asked, as he crooked his finger slightly when his little sister loosened the grip momentarily.

Thráin didn’t seem to hesitate at all, with one look to his sleeping wife, he said with finality; “Dís. Her name is Dís.”

It made sense, Thorin mused, for Dís had the same dark eyes as their mother, along with the chin and hair (which even Thorin shared). However, little Dís had the prominent Durin nose that every generation had _and_ probably the strength too, going by the way she was squeezing Thorin’s finger.

“You’ll have to take real good care of her.” Thráin spoke, when the silence stretched for too long, “your mother and I are too old now, we may perish any moment, and should that happen, you will have to stand by her, no matter what.”

Thorin nodded, “of course, father.”

Thráin, happy with the acceptance, took his little daughter back into his arms carefully. The family did not leave the room for many hours to come.  

\---

_Present day - Tuesday, 13th August 2013_

When Bilbo found that he nor Thorin weren’t going to say anything to each other, he decided that it was already too late in the night to make any decisions. So as any respectable man, he decided to go to sleep now and think about the ghost when he was in the right frame of mind - that was after a nice sleep and a heavy breakfast settled in his tummy.

Uncrossing his arms, Bilbo nodded a few times, “er- Well. Goodnight.” He moved towards the stairs (and therefore closer to Thorin) but stopped right before he could climb the staircase as Thorin was still sat on the step in front of him.

He wondered whether it would be rude of him to just continue on anyway - maybe if he walked through Thorin he’d just feel a cold chill and nothing more. But he didn’t want to risk the ghost’s ire after finally getting him to relax and somewhat talk like a mature human being/spirit. “Er- Mister Oakenshield-”

The man looked up and Bilbo shivered at the intensity of the gaze. “I need to-” He pointed up the stairs, hoping that would be enough for Thorin to figure out he needed to sleep.

Thorin nodded once in reply, vanishing so that Bilbo could go up.

Blinking at the spot Thorin previously occupied, he stayed rooted at the spot for a few moments. _I will definitely never get used to that._ He shook his head, and climbed up the stairs and to his room.

All Bilbo hoped for was that tomorrow would be a much better day. Was that too much to ask?

\---

Yes it was.

The next morning, as soon as Bilbo got up, he tripped over a lone box that somehow moved during the night (he was going to have a word with Thorin about that), resulting in a pounding headache.

When he went down he found that there was nothing in the kitchen other than bread and a few odd pieces of chocolate. At least there was enough milk and sugar for tea. But a 'proper heavy' breakfast was out.

And if that wasn't bad enough, it seemed like the weather was trying to mimic Bilbo's terrible mood by raining cats and dogs- again stopping Bilbo from collecting all the wood piles from the shed for the fireplace to at least keep the room warm (once again, he'd have to have a word with Thorin about that).

So far, Bilbo was cold, hungry and his head and feet were aching. Sighing, he got his cup of tea and moved to the sitting room, collecting the discarded blanket he'd thrown off in a fit last night and covering himself with it, cursing Gandalf.

If it wasn't for Gandalf, Bilbo would've never seen the damned house, nor would he have had bought it if he knew for sure that the house wasn't the only thing he was getting.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw Thorin was sitting right next to him on the sofa.

"Do you actually jump so much or do everyone react like this?" Thorin asked, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Bilbo almost pouted (key word there, _almost_ ), "its not everyday you sit and talk to a ghost." He shot back, "it'll take some time getting used to you floating around the place, constantly brooding."

"I don't 'float around the place constantly brooding'," he huffed.

"Seriously, thats what you got out of my statement?" Bilbo said, incredulously.

"Well I've had ninety three years to come to terms with the idea, yes."

When silence filled the air, Bilbo turned to Thorin, "Bilbo." At Thorin's confused glance, he elaborated, "that's my name. Bilbo Baggins. I don’t think I told you my name." Well it wasn’t as if there weren’t any reason for that.  

"Ah." Was all Thorin replied.

Well now this just became awkward again.

Shuffling in his seat, he looked back down at his cooling cup of tea, taking a sip as he tried to find something else to talk about.

"Hey, er-" Bilbo looked at Thorin, finally knowing what to say, "we still need to talk about rules. Last night cannot be repeated again."

"Agreed."

"So you just wait here," he pushed the blanket off him and carefully placed his cup on the table before getting up, "and I'll grab a piece of paper and then we can establish rules."

Bilbo then rushed out the room, up the stairs and into the office (or what was the sad excuse of one), and opened one of the boxes he knew contained his notebook and other stationary.

Grabbing the items, he then bolted back down to the living room, sitting exactly where he was before sans the blanket and tea.

"Right-" Bilbo spread the sheets of papers across the table and took a pen for himself, "first rule, no moving or throwing my stuff from where I've put it. I will not stand for you to be throwing a fit and tossing my things around. Especially without permission." He gave Thorin a pointed look, which Thorin scoffed at before speaking.

"But you're moving my belongings without _my_ permission, so I don't see how that rule is fair."

"Because you have no need for these things. I need the shelves for my books and items - though I'll compromise; I won't move your books or any decorative furniture like the paintings on the staircase wall. If I do move it, its to help with the maintenance."

Thorin grumbled but nodded, which Bilbo smiled brightly at before scribbling it down on the sheet of paper. "Fine, but I can go wherever I wish, no matter what time, or wherever you are. This is my house so I can be wherever I want."

"You can have that, but if I'm using the bathroom you cannot go in-" he quickly spoke as he saw Thorin beginning to protest, " _no_ that is _privacy_ , Mister Oakenshield, you cannot barge in while I'm showering! And you cannot go in my room - yes that's _also_ privacy."

"Then you cannot go into my room." Thorin shot back.

Bilbo blinked, unsure for which room was Thorin's, unless...

"Yes that room. I do not like it when anyone enters that room."

He nodded, writing down the second rule in clearly with no complaints. He felt like that room was worth much more than just Thorin's death place.

"Also, no annoying company. By company I mean no more than three people at once."

Bilbo shrugged, he didn't have more that one friend anyway let alone three. Bofur was the only one he considered a friend. He would've considered Gandalf but he was more like that loony grandfather everyone loved (and hated). Other than Gandalf (family-ish) and Bofur (friend) he knew nor liked enough for them to come over.

"And call me Thorin."

Bilbo's head shot up, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Not Mister Oakenshield, I'd prefer to be called Thorin."

It was a simple enough request. "Of course, as long as you call me Bilbo."

Thorin's lip twitched in an almost-smile, going as soon as it came. Once again silence filling the room, though this time there was no awkwardness to it.

However that peace was shattered when there was a knock to the door. Bilbo got up slowly, quickly looking back at Thorin but seeing the space he occupied now empty. Sighing, he made his way to the door.

The guest turned out to be the local delivery boy from the markets. "Ah, Mister Baggins?" The scrawny lad asked, trying to shake off the water from his coat.

"Yes, come in! You must be frozen stiff-!"

"No sir, it's alright. Where should I leave this...?" The lad looked down at the crate in his arms, covered with plastic to protect the goods from the rain.

"Come in-" Bilbo opened the door wider, letting the boy in. He hoped the house would be marginally warmer than outside, but without the fireplace burning (and Thorin's constant presence) the house would always be cold. He led the lad through to the kitchen where he placed the box on the counter. "So whats your name?"

The scrawny red head shivered with nerves, or maybe he was just shivering with the cold - as Bilbo handed him a towel to try and dry himself with, the boy answered, "Ori Rison, at your service!" The boy took the towel, thanking him before he began drying his hair, almost moaning with relief at the warmth the friction brought.  

When the boy dried himself as much as he could, he returned the towel to Bilbo, who threw it at the sink before leading the boy back to the door. "Well. I best be off, more deliveries need to be done! See you next week, Mister Baggins! Oh, and welcome to the neighbourhood."

However, just as the boy was about to leave, Bilbo stopped him, "wait-" he opened the coat cupboard and found the bin which held all his umbrellas, taking one out and handing it to Ori,"take this. If you're going to be out in the rain you might as well be dry."

Ori smiled warmly at Bilbo, thanking him profusely as he took the umbrella. "I'll return this to you next week." He vowed, before opening the umbrella and running off, yelling his goodbye as he ducked into the pick up truck waiting for him.

Once the truck was out of sight, he shut the door and turned back to the cupboard and grabbed a jacket. The house was way too cold to sit in without any fire. He then grabbed the keys and headed towards the kitchen, through the back door and out into the pelting rain.

 _I really need to call the service technician and get the heaters fixed._ He reminded himself as he unlocked the shed and ran in, hiding away from the rain.

Teeth chattering, he stumbled around the dusty old interior looking for the light switch. "Why is it so diffi- Ah!" The light switched on, flickering constantly when he found the stack of wood.

He found the shed to be uncomfortable and damp. The smell of rotting wood and metal filled his nose, making him scrunch them slightly to avoid the odor though it did no help. Stacks of shelves were filled with toys and tools used by people before left alone for years. Bilbo peered down at the toys, smiling lightly to himself before turning to the wood he wanted.

Waving away the dust particles from his face, he bent down, collecting the wood slowly when a small box caught his eye.

Curious, he gingerly put the wood down and then shuffled closer to the box. He blew on the top, coughing as the lint flew in his face. When the coughing fit was over, Bilbo looked at the engraving on the box.

Made of almost perfect wood, the box had a name engraved on the lid; _Dís._ However, as Bilbo tried to open the lid, he found it was sealed shut with a lock. Which he had no key for. Well that was a good thing anyway, since Bilbo had no claim over that box and he was not going to pry into other's items (it probably was considered as Thorin's belonging, which according to the rule he couldn't mess with).

It wasn’t right to open things not belonging to you. He knew exactly how it felt for his privacy to be invaded so crassly (it doesn’t help the fact that Lobelia _was_ one of the many reasons he practically escaped Bag End).

Shaking his head, Bilbo gathered the other pieces of wood and rushed back into the safety of his house to start the fire.

 


End file.
